


if you love me

by taylocrow



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jon is a Stark, Mob AU, Modern AU, No Incest, Robb and Jon are brothers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 18:38:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17431367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylocrow/pseuds/taylocrow
Summary: “Your son means the world to me.”“Which one?”Robb’s mysterious death still has the club shaken and his wife Sansa reeling. With no direction and lots of unanswered questions, she runs into the arms of the last person she should: Robb’s little brother Jon.





	if you love me

**Author's Note:**

> Sansa is married into the Starks so there’s no incest - ya feel? I’m so excited to write this. This one is gunna be juicy *finger snap*

Even after all this time, Sansa Stark still sticks out like a daisy among the dandelions, her roots didn’t run as deep or as strong in this club as her husband’s do. Or did. It’s been four months since Robb Stark was murdered by a rival that Sansa was protected from ever hearing about. When his empty casket lowered into the hollow earth, that was the first time she ever wished she knew more about her husband’s line of work.

  
  


In high school Sansa made great grades, played all district volleyball, and fell in love with the boy on his motorcycle. To everyone else it didn’t make sense, but with his arm around her shoulders, she knew she had all she ever needed. With a childhood like hers, all she wanted was to be safe, and Robb Stark did the best he could.

  
  


They’d been married at age 20, surrounded by leather jackets. Robb’s father had to walk her down the aisle, since her’s had died when she was young. The Starks had taken Sansa in and made her one of their own. She was much more sheltered than the other guy’s wives and the scantily clad ladies sprawled about the clubhouse, but she preferred it that way. 

  
  


The less she knew, the less she worried. 

  
  


After eight years of marriage, Sansa knew exactly how to clean out the blood from Robb’s white shirts. For Sunday night club dinners she knew how his Dad loved biscuits and his mom’s chicken couldn’t compare to hers. She knew exactly how Jon, Robb’s younger brother, took his coffee and that they both had the same favorite movie. And although the two of them had a lot in common, Sansa could never see anyone else but Robb.

  
  


This isn’t the first club meeting Sansa has sat in on, but it’s the first she’s had to attend since Robb’s been gone. 

  
  


The clubhouse isn’t glamourous by any stretch of imagination. It’s location is in the beat up part of town and the inside is plastered with raunchy bikini photos and beer advertisements. There’s two pool tables when you walk inside and a small makeshift bar off to the side, and the air is always, always thick with heady tobacco smoke. 

  
  


Smoking wasn’t a steady habit Sansa had ever picked up, but she allowed herself the pleasure of the burn when seated next to her dead husband’s father. Ned Stark, the patriarch and President of the Stark cooperation, sat with his chin high and shoulders taut. 

  
  


As she exhales a cloud of smoke, Ned starts up the meeting. Everything is still pretty grim around here, but Sansa’s all too aware of how much her presence makes the ache grow worse for Robb’s closest friends and brothers. A knot coils in her stomach when Theon Greyjoy gives her a borderline tender look. 

  
  


“We have the pleasure of Sansa’s company for a very unfortunate reason today.” Ned turns his attention to her and places a too gentle hand on her shoulder, “I don’t want to frighten you, dear.”

  
  


Sansa puffs her cigarette and looks at him unblinking as she waits for him to continue. When she doesn’t return the sweetness, he retracts his hand to join his other and folds them together on the table. 

  
  


“We believe we know who killed Robb.” His jaw is tight and his tone is clenched as he pushes forward, “I wanted to bring you in here to ask how much you’d like to be a part of this.”

  
  


Wasn’t she already? She thought bitterly to herself as she let the lit cigarette waft a steady stream of smoke over her blank face. 

  
  


“If I might,” Jon Stark leans in closer and looks at his father, “I don’t think Robb would ever want her here for this.” 

  
  


Sansa meets his empty eyes across the wide expanse of table and remains silent. Mostly because there’s nothing she really has to say in the way of which they plan to exact their revenge. It won’t make her home any less lonely or the ring on her finger any less heavy.

  
  


Samwell Tarly tenses beside her and she glances at his glum face from the corner of her eye. A raw ache claws at her throat to see him express his emotions so clearly, and she wonders what it’s like to be able to process something like this. To be anything other than hollow.

  
  


Ned and Jon share some unreadable look and Jory Cassel steps in, “I think it’s best you hear what will be happening. It will probably affect you.”

  
  


“Jory.” Brynden Tully’s gruff voice chastises his boldness but Sansa only responds with putting out the nasty cigarette in the crystal ashtray before them. When she sits back, she looks to Ned and replies carefully, “I think you’ll tell me what I need to know.” 

  
  


“Sansa,” Jory speaks up again, “I don’t feel right leaving you in the dark, it only leads to uncertainty and preventable mistakes.” 

  
  


There’s genuine concern in his tone, and Sansa can’t help the brief expression of panic that passes over her face at his words. Sam is more tense than before and she feels him watching her anxiously.

  
  


“We’ll tell her what she needs to know.” Jon speaks in a firm and final tone that gains everyone’s attention. Sansa rises from her seat and gathers her keys and purse with as much grace as she can muster. “Thank you.” She says it as sweet as honey and is out of the door like the bees are at her heels.

  
  


Sansa’s caught by Catelyn as soon as she gets to her car, and she feigns happiness at bumping into her. 

  
  


“How’s it going, sweet?” Catelyn embraces her tightly and keeps her hands around Sansa’s upper arms as she pulls away. Catelyn’s looking her over and is sure to comment on weight loss or needing a burger, but instead she says nothing. “I know there’s no apology that can touch how you must be feeling.”

  
  


It’s uncomfortable to hear something like that in broad daylight, but Sansa tries her best to nod and thank Catelyn for the endearment. 

  
  


“Your son means the world to me.” Sansa places a hand over one of Catelyn’s and feels her vice grip tighten further. 

  
  


“We’ll figure this out.” Catelyn says what she can to make it clear to Sansa that she still believes. 

  
  


Ever since Ned came home that night four months ago, Catelyn knew it wasn’t true. She insisted she’d know it in her bones if her first baby was really gone. When she said this to her husband, the usual calm and steady Ned Stark had absolutely lost his mind. He’d shouted at her with such a hot rage that Catelyn never dared speak of it to any of them again. Only when Sansa allowed her a safe space had Catelyn confided that she’d never believe it until she saw a body. 

  
  


Sansa was still hanging onto Ned and Catelyn sitting her down as Jon lingered in the doorway to tell her that Robb wasn’t coming home. That there’d been an explosion when they were down by the docks. Jon was supposed to have been the one completing the run, but he was sick with the flu and so Robb stepped up to cover for him.

  
  


Jon had run to the bathroom to puke when Ned apologized to Sansa in that hauntingly morose tone, “ _ I’m sorry Sansa, he’s gone _ .” Maybe it’d been the flu, or maybe the words, but Sansa couldn’t blame him for his reaction.

  
  


“You’ll be by tonight for dinner, right?” Catelyn drops her hands to give her a serious glare. 

 

  
Sansa had been absent from Sunday dinners here and there to allow herself more isolation and numbness in the comfort of her own home. But after today, she has a gnawing feeling that Catelyn isn’t asking her to come but rather informing her that she is going to come whether she wants to or not.

  
  


Sansa nods and gives her a brief kiss on the cheek to dismiss herself, “Of course. I’ll bring over a dish.” 

  
  


“The boys would love your Ritz cracker casserole.” Catelyn tries to smile, “See you later, honey.” 

  
  


The absolute last thing Sansa wants to do is make a fucking casserole, but she does it so she won’t have to hear about it. After a tiring trip to the grocery store and throwing together a simple and fattening dish, she’s more than exhausted. If she bails on Sunday dinner, Catelyn will think she pissed her off or Ned will think she’s afraid. 

  
  


All she is is tired and annoyed. So when the casserole cools and her hair is brushed, she puts herself and her casserole in her car and heads over to the Stark’s home. It’s just started to get some warmth back, and now when they sit around the table it’s not all subdued and sorrowful. They play rock music again and the men talk more easily amongst themselves. 

  
  


Sansa wishes she can melt into the floor when everyone freezes to watch her wave and set her casserole on the counter. Each of them greets her warmly and with over the top enthusiasm. After these last few months, she’s grown used to it. 

  
  


They gather around the kitchen table for a prayer and the meal and it’s almost like it should be. Theon rags on Jory about old jokes while Ned tries to ignore Brynden casually flicking him off as much as he can before Catelyn catches on. Sam has his wife Gilly beside him and the two of them talk about an upcoming ultrasound appointment.

  
  


Sansa swallows her blatant jealousy and chases it with a pull from her beer bottle. Jon looks through his phone and ignores Theon and Sam’s jests about what girl he must be talking to. When they lock eyes, Jon looks as sad as she feels. It makes her take another much longer sip of her beer. 

  
  


“I forgot my charger in my car, be right back.” Sansa makes up a lame excuse for some air, but they allow her some peace and no one says a word to take it away from her. For that she’s grateful, but she’s a little cold when she takes a seat on the front stoop. The night air has a sharpness now that the seasons have turned to fall, and it was foolish for her to have worn a short sleeved shirt. 

  
  


When she moves to go back inside for warmth, she hears the front door creak from behind her. Jon stands with the door propped open, “Oh, sorry, I forgot you were out here.” He moves to retreat but Sansa beckons him outside. If he’s hesitant, he plays off the confusion and simply takes a seat next to her. A rolled joint dangles in his lips and he lights it with a practiced ease that makes her look away in embarrassment. 

  
  


For being a mob wife, she wasn’t privy to all the drugs. She’d smoked marijuana about as much as she smoked tobacco. The smell makes her think of Robb’s old sweatshirt and how he’d chew peppermint gum. Every kiss tasted sweet and rich whenever he’d get high before coming home. 

  
  


“Sorry,” Jon blows the smoke away from her and holds the joint out to her, “Want some?”

  
  


Sansa scoffs and waves him away, “I think I’ll pass.”

  
  


“I didn’t think you would. Only trying to be polite.” There’s a curve to his mouth that isn’t quite a smile before he sticks the joint back in his mouth.

  
  


“You think I’m such a square, huh?” Sansa eyes him and then sticks her hand out, “Give me that.” 

  
  


He gives her a surprised grin and passes it over as he throws his hands up, “I’m starting to reassess, Snoop Dogg.” 

  
  


Sansa lets out a dry chuckle and inhales like Robb taught her all those years ago. Jon watches on, impressed by how long she holds in the smoke, and he doesn’t even laugh at her when she coughs a bit. He takes his joint back and nods at her, “Look at you.” 

  
  


“Yeah, look at me.” Sansa slaps her hands against her thighs and sighs, “A vision.” 

  
  


The streets are eerily quiet tonight and the light rain that breezed through earlier leaves the air crisp and clear. If Sansa weren’t so busy staring out at the glistening pavement of the road, she would’ve seen Jon’s eyes looking her over.

  
  


“I’m not scared.” Sansa readjusts her sitting and realizes how close Jon’s thigh is to hers. Warmth radiates from his body and they catch eyes while the sound of their ragged breathing pulls them closer. 

  
  


There isn’t a need to explain what she meant by saying that and Jon merely nods his response. From inside the house they can hear Jory loudly singing to ACDC and Catelyn actually laughs as she struggles and trips over her words telling him to quiet down. Sansa keeps staring out at the empty road and says, “They seem happier.” 

  
  


“Maybe.” Jon finishes off his joint and flicks it into the grass. “Could just be that I’m not in there.”

  
  


“Could be both of us.” Sansa chides and Jon snickers dryly. They start to really laugh, even though it’s not very funny, and Sansa feels her lungs constrict and eyes pool with tears. Somewhere between grief and relief, Sansa’s been floating for weeks, and she craves to be grounded more than anything else. 

  
  


Jon’s lips on hers do the trick, and his hands gripping onto the sides of her head make her feel something other than nothing. 

  
  


Anything is better than nothing at this point.

  
  
  
  



End file.
